


All the Best Parties

by hailingstars



Series: good kid [7]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Adopted Peter Parker, Arguing, Gen, Paparazzi, Peer Pressure, Press and Tabloids, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Underage Drinking, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-29
Updated: 2020-01-06
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:47:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22018861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hailingstars/pseuds/hailingstars
Summary: “Don’t go throwing any parties while we’re away.”Pepper laughed. “He’s not you, Tony.”It was obvious, even without Pepper pointing it out. Peter wasn’t Tony. Not even close. All the whisperers at the gala had been quick in pointing that out.“We’ll see you Monday after school,” said Pepper, before kissing him on the forehead. “Enjoy your freedom.”“And don’t burn my penthouse down,” Tony told him, as he and Pepper sandwiched him into a hug. “Love you, Pete.”ORTony and Pepper go out of country on a business trip, and left on his own for weekend, Peter gets into some trouble with some new friends.
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Harry Osborn, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: good kid [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1236239
Comments: 120
Kudos: 451





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> good kid isssss back
> 
> I think I said in my last author's note that this and the other two fics are sort of like an extended epilogue, so they all kind of work together to tie up some loose ends and give closure and all that
> 
> thanks so much for your patience and for reading! hope you're having a great end to the holiday season! 
> 
> *** if you're new to this series this can kind of be read as a stand alone, but some of the relationship dynamics (especially between Peter and May) might be confusing

All of Peter’s favorite conversations started with do you remember when, and they all happened at the same place, a diner on the edge of Queens.

It had dirt smudged, checkered floor, and smelled like grease, French fries and ketchup, and it was littered with real people. The kind who yelled and shouted when they were angry, the kind who wore clothes with rips and t-shirts with stains.

More importantly, the kind who was his Aunt May.

She sat across from him, laughing, as Peter sipped his chocolate shake through a straw, and they both recounted the time Ben went to war with a mouse.

“It took him _weeks_ ,” said May. Her plate was empty in front of her, and so was Peter’s.

“He was so determined,” said Peter. “He took a whole day off work.”

“I was so angry about that.” She was smiling and shaking her head. “Wasting his PTO… do you remember, he had it a little box by the time you got home from school and the two of you drove out to field and let it go.”

“All that talk and he couldn’t even kill it.”

“Yeah,” said May. She looked at Peter as her voice trailed off. “You get your kindness from him.”

Peter beamed, before shifting his eyes back down at his milkshake, taking a sip, and relaxing his back against the sticky plastic booth he sat in. It was uncomfortable in a comfortable sort of way. A familiar way. A way Peter could enjoy, but never really own. Like the time he found an old Iron Man t-shirt in a box of his childhood things.

He could look at it. Smell it. Remember what it was like for Iron Man to be his hero, but not his father. Then he’d folded it up. Put it back in the box. He couldn’t wear it anymore. It didn’t fit.

“So, what do you have any plans for your weekend?” May asked him.

“Oh,” said Peter. “No, not really.”

Not really was a compromise Pepper had worked out between Peter and Tony. There was a charity gala at the end of the week that Peter didn’t want to attend. There was a business trip over the weekend that demanded both Pepper and Tony to fly to Japan, and miraculously, Pepper had convinced Tony to let Peter stay at the penthouse by himself, only if he tagged along to the gala without whining about it.

A few hours of suffering among the stuffy and rich would be worth a weekend on his own.

“What about you?”

“Not much,” answered May.

Peter wondered what her not much translated into. May adjusted the bracelets covering her wrist.

Whatever it meant, she didn’t sound very excited about it, but Peter didn’t press. Just like she hadn’t pressed him, and anyway, it was just as well. Peter didn’t like hearing about Greg, who was, unfortunately, still part of her life somehow, and he didn’t particularly want to share details of his life with her.

These trips to the diner were strictly trips to past. Short visits. Long enough to be comforted by something familiar, but never long enough to hurt.

“Oh,” said May, her eyes narrowed in on him. “You just… have something…” She looked down at her shirt, causing Peter to look down at his own hoodie and seeing a dark spot where he must’ve flung some of his chocolate shake onto it. May chuckled. “Still messy I see.”

“Yeah, yeah that’s me,” said Peter, reaching across the table and accepting a wad of napkins from her.

Peter was dabbing his hoodie with the napkins when the flash of a camera stopped him cold. It was instant dread and frustration. When he jerked his head to the left and stared out the window, he was able to connect that flash with a person and all his bad feelings were validated.

He’d been a Stark long enough to spot paparazzi even if it was just one lonely guy with his phone, taking pictures of him while he was simply having his and May’s ritual post decathlon met snack.

“Shit,” said Peter, dropping his head. “There’s always someone trying to take my picture.”

May looked around, trying to find the offender, then finally, returned her eyes back to Peter, filled with nothing but sympathy.

“You’re a Stark now,” she said, in a gentle voice.

He didn’t need any more reminders. Every day he was reminded in a new way, and sure, he’d been prepared for it, even before the adoption was official, but the diner was his safe haven, or at least, that was what he thought before now.

“I… I should get going,” said Peter, shifting around in his seat, then eventually, sliding out from the booth. “Are… are we gonna meet up again? Next time?”

May smiled at him from her seat. “Of course, next time.”

Peter nodded his head, then left the diner.

He put his hood up, shoved his hands in his pockets, and started his walk to the subway, wishing he’d get lost in the crowd, wishing May would keep her promises to show up at all his decathlon meets and their ritual snack afterwards.

Most of all, Peter hoped Tony wouldn’t get weird when he found out he was visiting with May again.

*

“We’re still on for this weekend, right?”

“Yes, Ned,” answered Peter, without looking up. His voice was robotic, and his hand scratching his pencil furiously across the worksheet in front of him.

His lunch went ignored, pushed into the center of the table and forgotten as raced to get his weekend homework completed before he ever stepped foot in his home. It was _because_ his and Ned’s plans were still plans he was rushing through trigonometry.

Being left at home, alone, for the weekend, was an exercise in freedom Peter was completely ready for, and he didn’t want to waste a second of it doing something like homework.

“I figured he’d change his mind,” said Ned, after taking a sip from his milk. Two seats over from him, Michelle turned the page of the book she read.

“Yeah, me too,” said Peter. He owed Pepper for that one, for convincing Tony to leave the country without him.

“Stark.”

The realization that it was Peter’s name that was being shouted hit him slow, and when it did, his head snapped up and around at the table next to his. It was Flash who demanded his attention, calling him by his new name, as always, like it was some kind of taunt.

“What’s your bodyguard doing here?” 

Peter followed Flash’s gaze, and to absolute horror, saw Happy Hogan striding across the cafeteria, heading straight for Peter and his friends.

“He’s not my bodyguard,” said Peter. He didn’t even know why he was still talking. He wanted to be a puddle on the floor.

Flash gave him a look. Peter looked at Ned or MJ for support.

MJ shrugged. “If the suit fits.”

“Dude,” said Ned. “Tony literally said he was your bodyguard before.”

Before Peter could remind Ned who’s side he was supposed to be on, Happy was dangerously close and not stopping his advance. He took a breath, then stood up to meet him, trying not to focus on the way he seemingly had the entire cafeteria’s attention.

“Happy,” said Peter, ignoring the way his voice squeaked, at the way he sounded out of breath besides just being sat down. “What are you – what’re doing here?”

“Oh, I had a security conference with some of the staff – “

“-wait, what?”

“Don’t give me that look,” said Happy. He pointed a finger at him and waved it around. “You’ll be happy they’re trained if you have an incident with the paparazzi.”

Peter blinked at him, then lowered his voice and gritted his teeth. “Do you have to be here, though? At my school? In the cafeteria?”

“Yeah,” said Happy. “I’m picking you up. Grab your things. Let’s go.”

Peter nodded to his lunch tray. “It’s only lunch.”

“I see that. Boss’s orders. He’s pulling you from school early today.”

“Why?”

As soon as he asked the question, he wished he didn’t. He rather Happy not explain to him, in front of his friends and classmates, whatever reason Tony had for making him leave school early. Peter swallowed. Apparently, Happy had some self-awareness, after all.

“I’m sure he’ll explain when you get there,” said Happy. “Get your stuff.”

With slumped shoulders, Peter shoved his books and worksheets in his bag, mumbled goodbyes to Ned and MJ, and, on his way out, dumped his lunch in the trash can, wishing, just for once in his new life, that all eyes weren’t on him.

*

Happy pulled the car up and parked in front of a brick building. A huge digital hung above the door, lit up with lights that spelled the name of the arcade.

Dread and bad feelings twisted in Peter’s stomach when he read it.

Something was wrong.

Nothing peaked Peter’s suspicion like Tony’s sudden and immediate attention, like being pulled out of school in the middle of the day and taken to an arcade. Tony knew him too well. Arcades were bribes, and that made Peter’s mind reel with possibilities about what could be wrong, until Happy opened the door and broke him out of his anxieties, shooed him out of the car.

Peter followed Happy into the building, where it was dark, save the lights from the game machines flashing all around the room. They went up a black and metal spiral staircase, and found Tony sitting in a corner booth, sipping a glass of iced water.

Tony and Happy exchanged words Peter didn’t pay attention to. He gripped the straps of his bookbag and looked around instead.

They were in upscale arcade. A more mature version of the type of places Peter liked to go and spend a few hours with Ned. There was a bar and a dance floor and an unmanned turn table off in a corner.

Happy told them both goodbye with the nod of his head, then disappeared down the staircase, leaving Peter and Tony alone.

“How was school?” asked Tony, as he stretched his arm over the booth.

Peter sat down quickly, on the edge of the seat, and shoved his bookbag on the table. “What’s going on? You’re not going to make me come with you to Japan, are you? You’re not changing your mind?”

He pressed Tony with a look that was so often used against him. A truth finding look. Peter tried to find the true somewhere in Tony’s eyes, but couldn’t. Even when Tony wasn’t wearing sunglasses, he wore sunglasses.

“No, I’m not,” said Tony, with a frown. “As for your first question, I thought you might be able to tell me.” 

Peter paused and racked his brain and panicked, thinking about anything and everything he could have done as Spider-Man to warrant a conversation worthy of getting pulled out of school for.

Tony let out a breath and pulled his cellphone out of his suit’s pocket. He pushed his thumb against the screen a few times, then he scrolled a little bit, before holding it out for Peter to see.

It was a picture of him and May, at the diner in Queens, on some gossip website. There was a bullshit headline under it.

PETER STARK SEEN WITH MYSTERY WOMAN

LEARN ABOUT THE WOMAN WHO GAVE UP HER NEPHEW FOR WEALTH

“Great,” said Peter, letting his back hit the seat. “Now they’re going after her.”

  
“You didn’t tell me,” said Tony. “You didn’t say anything about meeting up with her.”

“You knew she was coming to my meets,” offered Peter. Even he knew the excuse was weak. “I – I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“If you thought it wasn’t a big deal, you would have talked to me about it,” said Tony. “I thought we were past this. The secrets.”

And Peter had thought all the helicoptering, all the excessive worrying, were over too. Somewhere, somehow, they both went back to old habits, as if Peter’s brief stay in May and Greg’s nightmare house, the adoption, and the gossip websites hounding them had all worked together and forced them both in safe behaviors.

One step forward, two steps back. Peter knew it was the case, but also, he’d forgotten how much he loved his secrets.

“I guess I just didn’t want you to get weird about it.”

“Of course I’m gonna get weird about it,” said Tony, raising his voice slightly louder. “Last time she was in your life- “

“I remember, okay? I don’t need a recap.”

“Okay,” he said, in a softer voice, losing the edge it had just a moment before. Peter looked down at the table and stabbed his bookbag with finger. “I just don’t really think you should be spending time with her.”

Peter snapped his head and narrowed his eyes at Tony. His words had been phrased as a suggestion, but the order behind them was clear.

“What? Why?”

“I thought you didn’t need a recap.”

“So I’m never allowed to see my aunt again?” 

“I didn’t say that,” said Tony. The conversation paused. Down below, one of the arcade games made the jackpot sound effect. Someone was cheering. Congratulations to them, Peter guessed. At least someone was having a good time. “We should put this conversation on pause. Until Pep and I get back. Then we can discuss it.”

Peter didn’t think there was anything to discuss it, didn’t see why it was such a huge deal. He knew what had happened last time. He had been there. It had happened to him, not Tony, and while it still hurt to think about, Pepper had been right when she had told him it was okay to forgive.

He could forgive her, and have post-meet snacks with her, and remember Ben with her, without letting her resume the motherly role she once held in his life.

That, Peter knew, without a doubt, was dead and gone.

“Enough talking,” said Tony. He sat up a little straighter and tried to erase the worry from his face. “I thought we might have some fun, hang out a little bit, before I’m off in Japan with boring business folk.”

Peter forced a laugh, forced himself away from the conversation when he really wanted to keep pressing against the issue. “You’re only going to be away for a couple of days.”

“And you’re gonna miss me the entire time,” Tony told him. “I know I’m gonna miss you. Those corporate types, stiff as boards.”

Peter laughed and continued smiling, only letting the act drop when Tony looked away. He wondered if miss was a code word for worry. He wondered if Tony regretted letting Pepper talk him into leaving him alone for the weekend. He wondered these things, quietly, but didn’t say anything out loud.

He didn’t bring May back up, because even though he wanted to, he didn’t want to argue with Tony. Not a day before he flew out of the country, and certainly not hours before being stuck at a boring charity gala.

Those sucked even when Peter was in the best mood.

“So, how about it? Ready to lose to your old man before I have to go off and do boring grownup stuff?”

“I’m almost grown, you know,” said Peter. A genuine smile forming. Peter knew that Tony knew he wouldn’t be able to say no to arcade games, and he also knew that Tony knew he’d never be able to win against him.

“I’ll believe it when you stop wearing Iron Man pajamas.”

“That was one time!” Peter shouted after him, as Tony slid out of the booth. “And only cause I lost that bet.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Peter grumbled as he stood up and followed after Tony as he walked towards one of the old school games. A determination to win overtook him. As the afternoon passed by, he forgot all about May and the media and the weight of Tony’s worry. They had fun, and for first time in the past couple of months, in that dark arcade, he wasn’t in the spotlight.

*

All of Peter’s least favorite conversations started with fake pleasantries, awkwardly muttered out with Tony’s hand on his shoulder, as he got shuffled around the museum’s ballroom and introduced to random rich and influential people.

The kind of people who wore dresses that sparkled and shoes that shined. The kind of people who smiled daggers and whispered what they really thought only once he walked away.

Even without his sensitive hearing, Peter would be able to hear them. Their whispering was loud, because it was the kind of whispering that was meant to be heard.

Peter wasn’t cut out to be a Stark, they said. What was Tony thinking, they wondered, adopting a teenager from Queens and giving him his last name and making him an heir to an empire. It hadn’t hit him, until that moment, hearing it in hushed tones between sips of champagne, that that was exactly what Peter was.

An heir to an empire. A prince to a throne.

His life would never be normal, at least what he thought of as normal, again. The media, the attention, the spotlight, they were all there to stay.

Peter was choking. Drowning in a sea of people, where he was just an imposter, one that was stuck and could never truly leave.

“You okay?” Tony nudged his arm with his elbow.

“Y-yeah,” said Peter. “I just need – I’m gonna go get some water.”

He darted away from Tony before he could be introduced to anymore of the fake and the sparkly.

Peter stepped out of the maze of bodies and out to the side, politely smiling at one of the waiters as he took a champagne glass filled with water from the tray he carried. He took a breath, then a sip and closed his eyes, hoping that when he opened them, he’d be back in his bedroom at the penthouse, safe and unseen.

“You’re going to need something stronger than water to deal with all this, Stark.”

Peter blinked his eyes open. There was a black-haired boy slouching against the wall next to where Peter stood. He had his hands in his pockets and his head tilted towards the ceiling. 

“Not even the hosts can get through these sober,” he told him. When Peter only blinked at him again, not offering a response, he shrugged away from the wall and extended his hand. “Harry Osborn.”

Peter accepted the handshake. “Osborn, like – “

“-Oscorp, yeah,” said Harry, voice dripping with contempt. “That isn’t important, though.”

Peter quietly disagreed. Without Norman Osborn and his shady research into cross genetics, there’d be no Spider-Man. On second thought, maybe it was a positive thing to move the conversation away from Oscorp.

“What _is_ important is that I can help you with your problem.”

Peter squinted. “My problem?”

“Your sobriety problem,” Harry elaborated. He stuck his hand out casually and grabbed a glass of champagne from a waiter as one walked by. “And your lack of directional skills. Clearly you’re lost if you’re hanging around these relics.”

“They’re not so old,” said Peter, offended on Tony and Pepper’s behalf.

“They’re dust. Now come on, Stark, hurry up.”

Before Peter could ask any questions about where they were hurrying to, Harry had his back turned and was walking off, expecting to be followed. Peter looked back in the crowd. Tony and Pepper were mid-conversation with someone who he’d been introduced to earlier in the evening but didn’t remember.

All those introductions had bled together, had melted into one, awkward memory Peter was happy to avoid, even if it meant following Harry Osborn out of the ballroom and down a lonely corridor.

Peter was pretty sure they weren’t meant to be there, but Harry didn’t seem to be bothered by it, so he pretended he wasn’t either.

They didn’t stop walking until they came to a much smaller room, an exhibit with a few pieces of art on the wall and a few couches, which were surrounded by other teenagers that looked around Peter’s age.

They wore sparkly jewelry and glittering dresses and fancy suits. Peter wondered if they felt like an imposter in their dress clothes, too, but he didn’t have to think about it very hard. Of course they didn’t. They didn’t hail from Queens. Most of them probably had never stepped one toe in that direction in the span of their entire lives.

They all held champagne glasses in their hands, with the exception of one boy, who held a cigar between his teeth. 

On the floor, near them, there were decks of cards and scattered poker chips, and bottles of alcohol sitting in round containers of ice.

Peter stared at them, and they stared back, looking very much like they had been waiting for him, and now that he was there, expected something from him.

Harry pressed the stolen glass of champagne into Peter’s hand, and he accepted it.

“First rule about galas,” said Harry. “The private parties are always better.”

Harry strutted past him and went to join his friends, leaving Peter standing in the threshold alone, swishing the liquid around inside the glass.

Peter supposed he didn’t really have a choice, or much of one, if it was between staying here, in a dimly lit room with just a few people his own age, or going back out there, where it was packed with adults gossiping about him like they were still in middle school.

He took a breath, then a sip of champagne, before joining the real party.

*

A persistent, irritating shake on his shoulder slowly pulled Peter out from his dream, but even after he was awake, he kept his eyes shut.

There was an ache behind them, somewhere. Too much champagne, and Peter couldn’t be sure without checking the time on his phone, but it seemed obvious by the darkness of his bedroom that it was too early to be awake on a Saturday morning.

“Kid, we’re about to head out,” said Tony, in a low voice, as he squeezed his shoulder.

Peter blinked his eyes open, and slowly forced himself to sit up. Tony hovered over one side of his bed, and Pepper stood on the other.

“Don’t go throwing any parties while we’re away.”

Pepper laughed. “He’s not you, Tony.”

It was obvious, even without Pepper pointing it out. Peter wasn’t Tony. Not even close. All the whisperers at the gala had been quick in pointing that out.

“We’ll see you Monday after school,” said Pepper, before kissing him on the forehead. “Enjoy your freedom.”

“And don’t burn my penthouse down,” Tony told him, as he and Pepper sandwiched him into a hug. “Love you, Pete.”

“Love you too,” said Peter.

Tony gave him a smile, and ruffled his hair, before him and Pepper left his room. Peter listened to their heartbeats and their footsteps all the way up until they stepped out of the building and onto the streets below.

Once they were gone, and out of his earshot, he sunk back down into his pillows and pulled his comforter over his head. Freedom and independence could wait until the sun came up.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy new year everyone!!

Peter didn’t know what he was doing, exactly.

His hands were flying through his desk drawer, flipping through stacks of paper, but it was as if he was really hovering somewhere in the air, watching himself, silently judging himself for the stupid as hell decision he was in the process of making.

He slammed the drawer shut once it was clear his passport wasn’t there, nearly losing his balance and toppling down into the carpet as he did. He straightened out, took a breath, and tried to make sense of his scrambled, racing thoughts.

That was just his life post adoption.

There was no anchor for his thoughts. Nowhere solid to stand. Nothing was certain, and it was as if he was constantly having to regain his footing and straighten himself out before he fell flat on his face in front of all the sharks with cameras, really giving a reason for Tony and Pepper’s high society frenemies to talk about him.

“Friday,” said Peter, finally. His last, and risky, resort. He was ninety-five percent sure he’d get caught anyway, so he might as well be honest with the AI.

“Yes Peter.”

“Uh,” he said. “Do you know where my passport is?”

“Boss stores your passport in the safe located in his home office,” said Friday. “Should I alert him that you’re looking for it?”

“NO!” yelled Peter, then quieted his voice. “I mean, no, that’s not necessary, thanks Fri.”

“Would you like me to open the safe for you?”

“You can do that?”

“Of course I can, Peter,” said Friday. “You’re one of four people with access to the family vault.”

“Oh,” said Peter. He shoved the guilt bubbling up in his stomach down deep. “Then, yes, please. Open it.”

“Very well.”

Peter paused, wondering if it were safe to ask Friday not to repeat it to Tony that he was taking his passport, or if that phrase in particular might set off some sort of alarm and alert him anyway. He decided against it as he marched off towards Tony’s office, only to pause again once he opened the door.

It felt wrong, like an invasion of privacy, coming in here when Tony was in a whole other country. Peter walked inside anyway. Tony, Peter was learning from all the media attention, was probably used to having his privacy violated. Peter had only been a Stark for a couple of months, and he was getting used to it, too.

“This is so wrong, this is so wrong,” Peter repeated, under his breath, as he crossed the office and collapsed down to his knees in front of the safe.

Just as Friday had said, it was popped open. He pulled open the lid of the rest of the way and saw his passport sitting up on top, ready to go. He stared at it, but still had no clue as to what he was actually doing or why he was doing it.

There were only a few things Peter knew and understood leading up to this moment.

He knew Ned cancelled their plans to hang out all day at the penthouse. He’d gotten the stomach flu, and while Peter had been sipping champagne with Harry Osborn and his friends, he’d been face first in the toilet, throwing up.

He knew couldn’t spend the weekend alone in the penthouse, even with the prospect of unlimited and unmonitored time patrolling as Spider-Man. It’d be too empty, too lonely.

He knew Harry had called just minutes after Ned told him the bad news, asking him if he’d wanted to hang out. Peter had almost suggested they go to the arcade Tony had taken him too the day before, but the idea died before it had ever left his tongue. Something about it seemed childish in a way that Harry wasn’t, in a way Peter was beginning to think he should adopt.

“Tony and Pepper are out of the country,” Peter had offered, shakily. “I can have some people over.”

“No offense, Pete,” Harry had told him. “But house parties got a little played out and boring back in middle school.”

“Oh.” Peter was very happy he hadn’t mentioned the arcade.

“I think I know the perfect place though. Got a passport, don’t you?”

Peter blinked away the memory and shook the echoes of Harry’s voice out of his head. His fingers closed around his passport, and he left Tony’s office, with a feeling of dread, with a knowledge that he’d almost certainly regret this.

Or maybe he wouldn’t.

It wasn’t really a big deal, and yeah, there was no way he’d leave the country on the Osborn family jet without Tony finding out about it, but Peter wasn’t sure that he cared if he found out, wasn’t sure Tony or Pepper would even care when they did find out. 

This was the world they lived in, the world they put Peter into when he became a Stark. It wasn’t a big deal. Not really. He repeated the mantra to himself over and over again as he packed bag and called an uber.

*

Harry popped the cork off a champagne bottle, and Peter watched the fine, white mist escape and hover around the rim. He locked his hand around the end of the arm wrist, trying to focus on the music playing instead of the fact they were already at cruising altitude and barreling through the clouds towards a country that wasn’t their own.

It wasn’t foreign countries that made Peter nervous, though, it was the jet. He’d never been on one that wasn’t Stark Industries, and he’d never been that far away from home without Tony or Pepper or May.

“So, Stark,” said Emmy, one of Harry’s friends, and Peter guessed, after this trip, one of his friends, too. She sat on the couch across from the one Peter sat on. Harry handed her a glass of champagne. “What’s the story with you?”

“What she means is,” said Andrew. He sat next to her, looking relaxed and bored, as if this were just a normal weekend getaway, as if they did this all the time. “Are the stories true? Did your aunt really sell you to Tony Stark for three million dollars and an apartment in Brooklyn?”

“Don’t be idiotic, Drew,” said Charlotte, cutting in, and walking over from the other side of the jet. “Why would Tony Stark pay for a teenager from Queens?”

“Because he’s a super genius, that’s why. Didn’t you read the article?”

“No I try not to read garbage.”

“Enough of that,” said Harry. He handed Peter a glass of champagne and Peter accepted it, just as he had the night before. “It’s boring me.”

Harry sat down next to Peter and watched the bubbles dance and pop in his glass, while the others continued staring at Peter. Despite Harry’s wish to move away from that particular conversation, it was clear that wouldn’t be happening.

“She didn’t get paid,” said Peter. “She just gave me up.”

The jet went quiet, besides the music playing through the speakers. His new circle of peers all seemed a little stunned, and at first, Peter didn’t understand why. That was his reality, had been his reality for a long time, a long enough time for him to have accepted it as normal, no matter how painful it’d been.

“It’s really okay,” added Peter, quickly. “I mean, it happened a while ago.”

Still, everyone stayed silent, until Emmy tipped the glass of champagne into the air, chugging every last drop. She let the empty glass fall to the floor.

“I wish my mother would give me up,” she said.

“Really, Petey.” Harry looked at him. “You’re in the right place.”

“True,” said Charlotte. “We’re like the lost kids of the upper east side, or at least, our parents wish we’d get lost.”

“Until the cameras come around,” said Harry.

“I’ll toast to that,” said Emmy. She stood up, already wobbly on her legs, stumbled over to the fridge and pulled out a few cans of beer.

Peter took a long sip of his champagne, feeling like he needed to catch up with the others, who were already almost done with their first drinks. Despite what Harry said about him being in the right place, Peter wasn’t so sure. He didn’t feel lost. He had, a long time ago, but lost wasn’t quite where he was anymore.

Maybe confused, uncertain. Maybe still grieving that his life was forever changed, maybe still grappling that he now had a few things in common with a jet filled with bored, rich kids.

He wondered if this was what Tony’s life was like when he was young. He’d heard the stories from Rhodey, and he wondered if that’s what everyone expected him to be. A Tony 2.0, or another Harry Osborn, disinterested and happy to drown out the dull with one glass of alcohol after another.

Peter drained his glass and the jet blurred as he looked around. He didn’t belong here, not really.

He wasn’t some lost kid of the upper east side. Tony and Pepper didn’t want him gone. May had, but he’d found since then. At the same time, he wasn’t a nobody from Queens. Not anymore. He was Peter Stark, once Parker, who belonged nowhere, or at least so it seemed.

Still, he thought, as he cracked open a can of beer Emmy had tossed to him, one he’d accepted with a quiet smile, he could pretend. Better to be an imposter than to not have a place at all.

*

“It really bothers you,” said Harry. “I can tell.”

Peter’s eyes were closed under his sunglasses. He even didn’t have a guess as to what Harry was talking about.

They had been on the island for a couple of hours. Just long enough to ditch their bags in a resort room suite and stumble outside to the pool, where Peter and Harry found lounge chairs and the others found the diving board.

He ignored Harry and reached his hand out for the tall glass on the table between their two chairs. He sipped, through a straw, a drink that tasted both like a chocolate-banana milkshake and rum. Harry had called it an ugly monkey. He’d ordered one for each of them.

Peter didn’t really care what it was called or what it tasted like. It was doing exactly what it was meant to be doing, keeping his buzz alive. He was hovering somewhere between drunk enough not to think so hard, but not drunk enough to be sick. 

He wondered, idly, if this was the sort of drunk Tony had once referred to as the fun the kind. Tony would be proud. Tony was somewhere in Japan, somewhere stuck in some boring meeting, and he’d be proud Peter was living it up for the both of them.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

“The press and all those nonsense articles,” said Harry, elaborating. “They really bother you.”

“Hmmm,” said Peter, too relaxed to even want to talk. “Are you a therapist now?”

“Might as well be.”

Over in the pool, he heard Emmy and the others laughing and splashing each other, reminding Peter of the time he skipped out on swimming with friends in favor of trying to prove himself as Spider-Man. Yeah, Tony would be proud.

“Listen,” said Harry. “They’re always going to be talking about you now. If you don’t want them putting out articles about your aunt, you have to do something to distract them from it. Get them talking about something different.

“Like this?”

“Dude. This is nothing. Not enough to make the tabloids at least. You’ll need something a little bigger.”

A house party in Iron Man’s penthouse might have done it, Peter thought, mournfully, wishing now that they’d stuck around in New York, where being followed by cameras was getting just as common as breathing. Then again, maybe he didn’t. The sun was warmer where they were. There was a light breeze and comfortable chairs and Peter didn’t think he’d ever get up.

He did though, eventually, when they all decided they’d had enough of the pool and the sun, and headed back up to the suite, where the party continued.

Peter wasn’t sure how long they were there. He was beginning to lose all concept of time, his world was getting fuzzier, with each and every drink, and his stomach felt queasy, like he was crossing over from the fun kind of drunk into the miserable kind.

Peter was laid out on the couch, head turned towards the ceiling, with an empty bottle of he didn’t remember what hanging out of his hand. Music was playing, but it seemed to stop when the door to the suite flew open with a blast. Peter sat up slow, blinked. The smoke cleared, and after it did, Iron Man’s armor became visible.

He stepped into the suite with an audible clank. Peter, and his new friends, froze in place, watching Iron Man watch them. Harry paused the music. It seemed like an hours before Tony let down his faceplate, revealing a tight jaw and narrow eyes that landed directly on Peter.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” said Tony. His voice didn’t sound very proud.

“H-hi Tony,” said Peter.

“Oh hey, Pete, having fun?”

“Umm, yeah actually.” He paused. He wasn’t really having fun anymore. Fun left when Iron Man arrived. His eye trailed over a coffee table near him and spotting, for the first time, a bag of weed on the table. “That isn’t mine.”

Peter watched in horror as Tony surveyed the scene. His eyes went to the bag of weed, the empty bottles laying all about, to Harry Osborn, who still looked rather relaxed and bored by the entire situation, then finally back at Peter.

“I would have preferred you throwing a house party,” Tony told him.

“You know me,” said Peter, although he pleaded with himself to remain silent. “Above and beyond.”

*

So, Tony was pissed.

Any trace of pride he might have had about Peter doing normal kid stuff instead of dangerous superhero stuff was overshadowed by his anger, made obvious by the way he pulled him up off the couch, the way his entire metal hand locked around his arm as he helped him towards the hole Iron Man blasted into the suite’s wall, and by the way he shouted a threating promise to all Peter’s new friends that he’d be calling their parents.

“It won’t matter,” said Peter, as Tony continued tugging him towards the elevator, and as he tried to ignore the way his stomach revolted and his head spun at the fast motion. “They’re lost.”

Tony made a confused face but didn’t ask any questions, and for that, Peter was thankful. He didn’t know he was capable of standing in elevator and talking at the same time. Not without losing whatever food he’d eaten that day. He couldn’t remember, but he supposed he’d find out if it came back up before they reached the car Tony had called for them.

They were outside, standing on the sidewalk and about to get into the car, when Peter dropped to his knees and threw up all over the resort’s front entrance. Tony’s hand stayed on his shoulder until he finished, until he realized it was tacos and he’d never be eating those again.

“You done?”

All Peter could do was nod his head.

Tony helped him into the backseat of the car, and in a few seconds, joined him on the other side. Silence settled over the car as the driver pulled out from the resort’s parking lot. Peter couldn’t take it.

“’m sorry,” he said.

Tony didn’t look at him. He kept his hard gaze looking out the window and only grunted in response.

Peter let his head fall back against the leather seat. He was done for. His game was over, his lights were out. He shut his eyes, and wished he was somewhere else, anywhere else, than in the backseat with an angry Tony Stark still wearing his Iron Man armor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! new chapter is coming SUNDAY ! ! ! hope everyone had a great holiday season!! <3


	3. Chapter 3

Peter threw up twice more before he and Tony arrived at the airport.

Once on the car ride there, forcing the driver to pull over while he stuck his head out the door and Tony tried providing as much comfort as he could while the hand he placed on his back was still covered in metal, and then once more on the short walk between the car and the private Stark Industries Jet that waited for them.

At least there was that. At least the jet was Tony’s, and Peter didn’t have to worry about falling out of the sky.

When he was finished puking his guts out on the concrete, he wiped his mouth off with the bottom of his shirt, ignoring the sound of disgust Tony made. Tony gripped his arm and helped him up the steps, onto the jet, and down into a seat. He pressed a cold-water bottle into his hands and ordered him to drink it, leaving no time for Peter to argue about it before he disappeared into one of the back rooms.

Peter forced out a sigh and stared at the bottle in his hand. He pressed it up against his face, then tried to open it, growling a couple of times when his hand refused to cooperate with his mind. Eventually, he managed to twist off the cap, right in time for the jet to lurch forward on its wheels.

The bottle slipped from his hands, spilled out on his shorts, on the couch, and then, on over the floor, after Peter had gotten tired of messing with it and decided to toss it to the opposite side of the jet.

His head swam as the jet took off towards down the runaway, as it lifted into the air, and as it climbed high enough to not feel it moving. Tony reappeared sometime after that, wearing his regular clothes instead of the Iron Man armor.

It wasn’t until then, that moment, Peter realized he was angry. Beyond angry. He glared at Tony as he got another bottle of water from the mini fridge and attempted to hand it to him. Peter didn’t take it.

“Are you going to repay the resort for the hole you blasted through the wall?” asked Peter.

Tony sat the water bottle on a nearby table. “Oh, so you’re the one who gets to be angry, not me, who’s been panicking for the last several hours because you wouldn’t answer your phone.” 

“You didn’t have to show up as Iron Man,” said Peter, hotly. “You couldn’t just been… normal, about it.”

Tony took a deep breath, then released, before speaking in a dangerously low voice. “I thought you were in trouble. I thought you’d been kidnapped. Here I was thinking my kid wouldn’t go to another country and ghost me unless there was an emergency.”

Peter ceased his face, wanting to ask Tony how he knew what ghosting meant, but deciding he was too angry to care. He knew it was ridiculous. Even with his hazy thoughts and impaired motor ability, he knew Tony’s explanation was perfectly logically, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“You just wanted to embarrass me in front of my friends.”

“Harry Osborn is not your friend.”

“Yes he is!”

“No he isn’t,” said Tony, only serving to make Peter’s anger spike when his voice was perfectly controlled, calm, cool. “And if you think you’re gonna be allowed to hang out with him again, after this, you got another thing coming.”

“Great,” said Peter. He let his back fall against the chair and crossed his arms. “Another person I’m not allowed to see, like my aunt.”

“I never said that. I said we’d talk about it.”

“Then let’s talk about it.”

“Peter,” said Tony, no longer calm or cool, just tired. “I think you know it would be better to wait.”

He did know. He was still felt sick, his head still spinning, slightly illogical anger still pumped through his veins. Knowing didn’t make it better, though, didn’t change that he seemed to always be waiting for someday and someday was never today.

“Just drink some water, okay?” asked Tony. Peter raised an eyebrow, had something quick to say on his lips, but Tony cut him off. “Please, kid. It’ll make you feel better.”

Peter picked up the water, unscrewing the cap on the first try, that time, and took a big drink, just to get Tony to stop staring at him. That’s what he told himself, anyway.

Tony straightened out in his seat and pulled his phone from his pocket. He scrolled it with his thumb, bring to Peter a sinking realization.

“Shit,” said Peter. They’d left in such a hurry, with Tony tugging him up and out of the room, while shouting at the other kids about calling parents, that he’d forgotten to grab his phone or his bag.

Come to think of it, Peter wasn’t sure the last time he saw his phone. Maybe that’s what Tony had meant about ghosting him.

“I need to text Harry.”

Tony looked up from his phone, a doubtful, unimpressed expression crossing his face.

“I just need to ask him to grab my stuff and bring it with him when he comes home.”

Tony stared a little bit longer, before giving in and tossing him his cellphone. Peter fumbled it in the air, and spent a few minutes trying to recover it from the couch cushions. When he did find it, it took a couple of seconds for him to recall Harry’s number. His fingers were clumsy against the touchpad, but he managed to type out a text and send it to Harry.

When he looked up, ready to throw the phone back Tony’s way, he saw Tony standing up and walking over to him. He sat down in the empty space next to him, immediately pulling him into a hug, a hug that Peter couldn’t help replicating.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” said Tony. “I thought, maybe, I’d be too late.”

Tony released him, took his phone back, but stayed seated next to him.

Peter laid his head back against the seat, feeling guilty, feeling like an asshole, even if he was still angry and drunk.

He knew Tony was just worried. He knew that he had made him panic and jump to conclusions, no matter how logical those conclusions were. He knew that Tony did his best, and that was loads more than May was willing to do, but knowing and feeling were different, and sometimes, Peter just needed someone to blame.

*

Peter and Tony went home to an empty penthouse that night.

Pepper, Tony had explained, had opted to stay in Japan and handle business by herself. It sent a wave of guilt through Peter. He’d ruined the weekend. For all of them.

The more sober he became, the more his anger shifted away from Tony and towards his own dumb decision to leave the country instead of just throwing a house party like a normal teenager. He was pissed, at himself, and his sense of relief that Pepper wasn’t home, and he wouldn’t have to face her just yet.

Tony sent him to bed with a bottle of water and a bottle of extra strength Tylenol, but Peter didn’t do much sleeping and the little he had was filled with dreams of unrest.

They were really just twisted versions of reality.

He saw Ben die, laying there on the sidewalk, bleeding out. He saw his Aunt May, sitting across a large oak table a government building, signing dotted lines on papers wherever Tony’s lawyers told her too. He saw shellfish, broken phones, stolen watches, and Tony’s worried frown.

He was always so worried, and it was always Peter’s fault.

He saw everything disappear. All at once. It was just him in the darkness, standing on the edge of a room filled with glitter and glam and faceless people dressed in fine clothes, holding chutes of champagne. That room was the only thing left. That was all there was left in the world, at least Peter’s world.

He woke suddenly. Jolted awake by a gentle hand, shaking his shoulder. Tony was sitting on the edge of his bed, hovering above him.

“Fri said you were having a nightmare,” Tony told him, in a low voice.

Peter groaned, reality hitting him fast and hard. His eyes ached. His head hurt. He was pretty sure there was something growing on his tongue. “Never drinking again.”

“I don’t believe it, but it’s still nice to hear,” hummed out Tony.

Peter responded with another groan, shifting around under his covers. He tried to find that comfortable spot, to maybe go back to sleep, but he knew it was pointless. His mind wouldn’t let him rest, even now that he was sober.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” said Peter. He didn’t know how to describe the jumbled images in any coherent way, and he didn’t have the energy to try.

“Almost time to wake up anyway.” Tony patted his knee. “I’ll make you some breakfast.”

Peter nodded, sending Tony back up to his feet and out of his bedroom, apparently eager to start breakfast and get some food into him. Peter didn’t feel like he had any ground to tell him no. That he didn’t feel like eating, that he wasn’t sure if he’d ever feel like eating again, and by the time Tony was putting a plate full of scrambled eggs and avocado toast in front of him, he was happy he hadn’t.

It was odd, a little jarring, how quickly things could change. Even if it was the unwanted feeling of nauseous.

Tony sat down on the stool next to him at the kitchen table, watched him shovel scramble eggs into his mouth with a fixed stare. Peter knew it was coming. It was inevitable.

“What were you thinking?”

Peter rested his wrist against the kitchen counter, twirled his fork through his fingers. “I don’t know, really.”

“Dig a little deeper than I don’t know.”

“I guess,” said Peter. “I guess I just thought that was what I was supposed to do.”

“…you were supposed to flee the country and give me a heart attack?”

“No, I mean, this is what people expect from me now, right? For me to be like Harry and his friends, like you were.”

“But you’re not like Harry or his friends.” Tony pointed out. He hadn’t meant it in a bad way. He was just stating a fact. Tony couldn’t help it that it sliced through him, hit him in a way that Peter couldn’t even fully understand.

“Yeah I know,” said Peter. He looked down at his plate of half eaten food. “That’s the problem, though, right? I’m not a Parker anymore, but I’m not really a Stark, either and everyone expects me to be. It’s just, I’m nobody, I guess – I guess I just wanted to fit in, to belong somewhere again.”

“You’re not nobody,” said Tony, offended. “You’re Peter. That’s all I expect you to be.”

That was the trouble, though. Who was Peter, if he wasn’t Peter from Queens? Peter who rode the bus to school, who liked his normal life in his old neighborhood, filled with people he loved to connect with. Peter, who never asked to be a billionaire or heir to Stark Industries or live in a spotlight but had somehow gotten all three anyway.

“The magazines – “

“Who cares about the damn magazines,” said Tony. “They’ll be moved on to something else in a couple of weeks.”

“Harry says – “

“Alright, I’m gonna stop you right there. Whatever Harry said go ahead and don’t do that, okay? Do that opposite of that.” Tony paused, then kept going. “Do you wanna know why I know whatever Harry said is wrong?”

Peter gave a shrug. Tony was going to tell him whether he wanted to hear it or not.

“Because I was Harry once, and I was an idiot,” said Tony. “But you’re different. You’re a good kid, Pete, who’s growing up into a great man. It’d be a damn shame for you to lose sight of that just because I got you mixed up into all this.”

All of this, Peter thought, was the world he was thrust into when Tony adopted him and gave him his last name. The celebrity, the wealth, the obligatory fancy parties. He supposed enduring all those things was worth having Tony and Pepper as his family. He supposed he could manage being a black sheep if it meant Tony wouldn’t carry guilt for turning him into a Harry Osborn clone, one of the bored and rich.

It sounded ridiculous to think about in hindsight. Peter would never truly be one of them, and he didn’t want to be.

A smile crept up on his face. “I’m still a good kid after all this?”

“Uh, sure, but you’re also a grounded one.”

Peter’s grin folded into a frown. He’d been expecting it, but that didn’t mean he had to be happy about saying goodbye to his patrols and his hanging out with Ned. All the best parties, and all the booze wasn’t worth losing either of those things. 

Thinking their conversation was over, Peter shoveled another fork full of scrambled eggs into his mouth, but as he chewed, he noticed Tony’s intense stare was on him. Tony hadn’t moved from the stool, and Peter remembered they had something else to discuss.

“We need to talk about your aunt,” said Tony.

“I know you’re worried,” said Peter, with his mouth still full. He hurried his chewing, then swallowed. “You’re just trying to make sure I don’t get hurt, but it’s different this time.”

“Different how?”

“I’m not staying at her house. We’re just eating together, like, once a week.”

“That’s… actually a major difference,” said Tony.

“Yeah. And,” started Peter. He took a breath. “I feel like it’s a good thing, Tony. She’s the last connection I have to my uncle Ben.”

Tony looked a lot like he did that time Pepper splashed cold water in his face. Shocked and stunned and snapping out of a haze.

“Alright,” said Tony, after a few beats of silence. “I’ll allow it, but just give me a heads up, before you do, okay? No more secrets.”

Peter nodded his head. His whole body filled with warmth and relief. He breathed easier, lighter, only just than realizing how troubled he’d been by the possibility of Tony banning his diner visits with May.

“What about Harry?” asked Peter.

“Don’t push your luck.”

But Peter did push his luck.

While he no longer wished to fit in perfectly with Harry and the rest of the bored rich kids, he did want to be their friend. They were all neighbors now, in a way, and it’d be nice have a few more friends, people to talk to whenever he got dragged along to a gala.

By the end of their discussion, Peter was still grounded, but had convinced Tony to let him hang around Harry, so long as they kept their adventures within the confides of New York City.

*

Harry stumbled into Peter’s bedroom on Sunday evening, holding Peter’s overnight bag in one hand and his cellphone in the other. It was a brave thing, Peter had to admit, showing up at the Stark penthouse after seeing Iron Man and all his rage busting into the hotel room just a day earlier.

It didn’t seem to affect him, though. He looked as calm, jaded, and put together as he always did.

He dropped Peter’s stuff on his bed. “Look, I’m sorry if I got you in trouble.”

“It’s not your fault.” Peter sat up from his relaxed position on the bed. “I’m sorry Tony blasted a hole through the suite wall.”

“That was pretty awesome,” said Harry, with a laugh. “He’s pretty dramatic. Just like seeing him on the news.”

“You have no idea,” said Peter. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “He thought I was kidnapped.”

Harry grinned, but it was short lived, replaced by a solemn, troubled expression. “Norman doesn’t really care what I do, sometimes it’s hard to imagine some fathers might.”

Peter recognized it for what it was, another version of his first apology, and something real, something that wasn’t brought about by a buzz.

“Well, I should get going,” said Harry. “Mr. Stark told me to keep it quick.”

“Wait,” said Peter, once Harry got to the door. Harry turned back around and looked. “We should hang out again, you know, when I’m ungrounded. There’s this arcade that’s really fun.

Harry frowned, like he was either allergic to the word grounded or arcade, then shook his head. “Yeah, that’d be fun.”

He left through the open door, and Peter collapsed back down into his pillows, wishing the next two weeks would fly by and he’d have his freedom back. As much as he hated the very idea of being grounded, he was still strangely thankful for Tony and his dramatics and his hard questions.

That he cared, even when he didn’t have to, even when Peter made it difficult for him.

That his world was still uncertain, fresh and new, but he could always count on Iron Man to bust down a door for him when he really needed him to. That Tony’s love was a weighty, unmovable anchor, the one thing Peter could count on being the same when the rest of his world was unknowable. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's it for this folks!! thanks so much for reading!! you all mean the world to me!! 
> 
> idk when the next one will be posted - but it will be posted eventually. there's two more fics left in this series!!

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!
> 
> next chapter on wednesday! 
> 
> comments and/or kudos let me know what you think !!!!
> 
> [or come shout at me on tumblr](https://hailing-stars.tumblr.com)


End file.
